


agape

by hannibals



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27902728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibals/pseuds/hannibals
Summary: agape is a greco-christian term referring to unconditional love, "the highest form of love, charity" and "the love of god for man and of man for god"i've chosen to completely ignore the fact that mary was revived (as i haven't watched this show in years, and i am currently attempting to catch up, and i also just didn't like that narrative choice!) i am making this up as i go, i hope you enjoyed this first part of potentially many. you can find me on tumblr @ ashayam!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	agape

Heaven is an odd amalgamation of people Dean had met in passing when he was alive, faces he’s seen in newspapers, on hunts, in bars. He can remember the exact moment he’d seen a person’s face and recognized them with startling clarity, even if they had just been a smudge in the corner of his vision. He sees these ghosts of people watching him for those scant few seconds, and they disappear into thin air each time he catches them.

Everyone was connected up here, whether he liked it or not. It was an itchy feeling on the back of his neck, knowing that if he did try he could remember every moment of his life. Every mistake made, every single misfire. Dean purposefully keeps himself busy, relishes in the creak of the steering wheel under his palms, and drives through rugged landscapes created specially for him by his unconscious.

It’s good to see Bobby, more than good, possibly the greatest blessing he’s ever been granted to end up in heaven right outside his rusty bar and home. He wouldn’t have it any other way, it’s a safe haven to land at in this wavering reality.

Dean shakes like a leaf the first few weeks in heaven, or what he assumes is a few weeks. Time is not exactly the most definite in this place, there’s nothing that tethers him to a specific time of day, sunrise and sunset is artificial and unpredictable. 

The particular smell of cigar and woodsmoke Bobby carries with him helps settle his nerves. When Dean has his rough days, he stays with him and Karen. It grounds him in ways he can’t explain without feeling embarrassed. 

Karen makes her presence known all throughout the house, transforming Bobby’s typical man-cave style into something a little more presentable and modernized. The plaid cloth over the small dining room table and lillies in the window make Dean’s heart do something funny. Domesticity was never so appealing, maybe sleeping in the impala and in motels did something funny to his head, maybe he could settle somewhere in this place.

Fleeting thoughts, he’s got bigger things to worry about. He’s got to visit mom first and foremost, he’s already wasted enough time agonizing over being dead and leaving Sam behind.

Dean drives down dirt roads, rocks shooting at the sides of the car until he hits pavement somewhere along the way. The jokes he could make about heaven having suburbs don’t seem very funny once he stops right where his gut tells him to park. Driven by some inexplicable force, Dean kills the engine and steps out of the impala onto the street, staring up at his childhood home. 

Coming home shouldn’t feel like this, he should be happy to see the sun bleached siding and groomed lawn. The tire swing him and dad put up on the tree that was on the verge of collapsing remains in its original place. 

He listens to the beat of his heart in his ears, stuck in place. Dean swallows his fear as he has always done before, and goes to climb the steps of the porch. 

The planks whine beneath his weight, wind chimes clink in the distance. Dean stalls himself from opening the screen door and knocking on the wood, he feels as though the metaphorical rug is slipping out from under him with every bated breath he takes. He doesn’t know if he could face her without going into hysterics. Dean knocks anyway.

There’s a shuffling noise coming from the open window, slippers skidding over wood flooring as someone rushes to the front door. Mary whips it open and grabs him by the face, says something entirely nonsensical and pulls him into a hug that squeezes the air from him, her arms wrapping around his neck. She’s warm, he thinks, smells like her old perfume.

A strangled cry loosens itself from the very depths of him and he crumples down to her height, gathering fistfuls of her t-shirt into his hands. She is very real, and is leaving tear spots on the leather of his jacket.

“I’m so sorry, Dean, I wish you hadn’t—”

“It’s alright now ma,” Dean starts, his words garbled with tears, “I’m fine now, I’m fine.” 

They share heaving breaths, she cards her blunt nails across the back of his head, he can’t believe his luck. 

Does he deserve this?

They eventually separate and walk inside, the door swinging shut with a solid click. Everything is as they’d left it, same interior, same height markings chipped into the paint of the wall separating the living room from the walk-in. It seems as though something is missing, though. 

“Where’s dad?” Dean says, cringing inwardly at the thickness of his voice.

Mary stays silent for a moment, clenching her jaw and unclenching. “We’re gonna have to talk about that.”

Dean blinks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and taking a step off the decorative carpet at his feet. “What’s goin’ on ma?”

“I saw what he did with you both, when I was gone.” Mary grinds out, her brows knit together in anguish. “And I am angry at him. Angry at the way he treated you both, especially you.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. What could he possibly say? This already feels like a dreamy haze that he’ll snap out of soon enough, fall to earth to bleed on the dirt floor of a barn. His skin pales quickly.

“John’s here, somewhere. And he knows what he’s done. He’s had plenty of time to think it over, as have I. I’m certain that you’ll find him soon enough, baby.” Mary says, putting a hand on his cheek.

Dean wanders the house while Mary stays downstairs to give him time alone, climbs the stairs to the upper floor. His old room is just as he remembers, the curtains are pushed open and sunlight filters through the dust motes lazily circulating in the air. He accidentally crunches a small plastic army man under his sole, picks it up and looks it over. He wonders where Cas is. 

Cas. 

Cas remaking heaven with Jack, Cas being taken back from the empty. It hits him in such a wave of sorrow that he has to back himself up to the small bed before he doubles over, the hinges squeak as he falls to the worn comforter, he winds the fabric between his fingers and gasps openly.

He has no idea where Cas is, he had been blindsided by the fact he actually made it to heaven and has seen almost everyone he loves most resting comfortably up here. But of course he hadn’t seen Cas.

Something in him twists, anxiety blooming in his chest as he recounts their final moment on earth together. The phantom numbness he felt then itches at the tips of his fingers, he doesn’t want to feel this. He doesn’t want to remember anything, the pure despair on Cas’ face, the void consuming him—

The rap of Mary’s knuckles on the doorframe snap him from his trance, he immediately stands, waves around the plastic army man between pinched fingers. “Nothing’s changed,” he says, almost expertly dodging whatever emotional turmoil he was moments away from slipping into. She watches him carefully, the set of her jaw tells him she’s unconvinced.

“Wanted to keep it untouched until you arrived so some memories could come back easier. Artifacts like that have emotions attached to ‘em, points in time.” Mary says serenely, as though it’s the simplest concept in the world to grasp. 

Dean shrugs and pockets the plastic soldier into his jacket, “Guess I’ll have to figure out how that works, too.” 

“You will soon enough, if you want to.” 

Dean stops, turns himself back toward her and purses his lips together. “Is this permanent?”

“It is if you want it to be, Dean.” 

He nods at this, tension gathering on his face. He hadn’t really thought through the logistics of this place, he didn’t know if it was even possible to leave. It wasn’t as though many angels were eager to interrupt his restful eternity in heaven, they had bigger fish to fry down below. These excuses he made didn’t fill the gulf of dread in his gut when he thought of Cas.

Mary clears her throat, moves toward him and holds his hands between hers, squeezes them. “You can do whatever you’d like, I’m certain. You deserve your peace, sweetheart, just not here. Not now.”

“Sammy said he’d be fine—” Dean starts, chokes down whatever wanted to crawl up his throat at the very mention of his brother’s name. “He’ll be alright without me, he’s got a good head on his shoulders, I know it.”

Mary looks at him, her features soften and mouth twitching up at the corners. “I’m proud of you, I really am.” She turns her head to the side, brows coming together, “But when have you ever lived for yourself?” 

Dean’s head spins, and continues to spin even as he wanders out of the house in a daze, he says his goodbyes, and gives Mary the tightest hug he could possibly give her. She laughs all the way through it, slapping his back with her hands and calling him sweetheart one last time. 

He tells her that he’ll be back real soon, and he can feel her smile against his stubbled cheek.

Dean blasts through the evergreen forests that remind him of hunting trips in the midwest. It’s humid without being uncomfortable, chilly enough to where he can wear his jacket with the windows rolled down. In the woods he can spot at a distance old water towers and electricity lines winding through the treetops, he wonders idly where they might lead.

He drives back to Bobby’s with the radio cranked obnoxiously loud, all smiles until he sees Bobby and John talking to each other, sitting on the wooden porch chairs. He parks a distance away down the dirt drive leading to the house, whatever conversation Bobby and John were having fades as they turn to look at him. He doesn’t look at John.

“You’re back,” Bobby says simply, standing easily from his place when Dean comes near, he sloshes around the contents of the beer bottle clutched in his right hand. “I’ll let you both talk amongst yourselves.”

“Bobby, you don’t gotta—” Dean says uselessly, Bobby’s brow furrows as he looks at him in the eyes, pats him firmly on the shoulder with his free hand and moves aside to step into the house. Dean’s mouth goes dry. He looks to John, whose shoulders are set straight against the back of his chair, his jaw firm. The afternoon sun shines unforgivingly, casting John in shadows beneath the porch overhang. 

John tilts his head to the side, wordlessly telling him to sit down, which Dean does without thought. He huffs loudly as he takes his seat, leaning his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. There’s a tension in the air that Dean wishes he could cut like a cord, they sit in silence for what feels like decades to Dean.

“You saw your mom?” John says, finally, his voice as gruff as Dean remembered. 

“I did.” Dean says simply, “She wasn’t too happy with you.” 

John nods at this, his head bobbing oddly until he turns to look at Dean’s profile. “Nothin’ I can do about that.”

The laugh that escapes Dean is a bitter one, he’s surprised it even came from him at all. He scrubs a hand across the back of his neck and feels damn near close to getting up and walking away. This is a conversation he doesn’t want to have, he doesn’t want to have to acknowledge everything that happened to him when he’s been expertly avoiding it all this time. 

Maybe not expertly, but good enough. There’s holes in the seams of whatever cloth makes him who he is.

“I don’t know what I should say, Dean.” John turns in his chair, one hand settled against the armrest, he’s skating pirouettes on Dean’s patience. “I can’t exactly fix it all.” 

“You could acknowledge it.” Dean says, rising from his chair. He keeps his hands clenched at his sides for fear of what he might do if they weren’t. There’s millions of unholy thoughts crossing his thoughts, things that would get him cast out of this place, he tries not to care too much and chooses his words carefully. “Half-assed excuses won’t cut it anymore, dad, we’ve got plenty of time now to get honest. I’m dead.”

There’s a shot of something akin to pain on John’s face, a clench of his jaw and eyes squeezing closed. “You’re my son, Dean, nothing will ever change that. There’s so much I wanted to give you in the beginning, but I was lost.”

“You left me to raise Sam. You left me on my own, the biggest mercy you could’ve given me as a father was being there.” Dean’s control is slipping, he feels his legs shaking beneath him as he leans toward John, there’s a vengeance in his veins that’s trying to slip out. “If you loved me and Sam, you would’ve been there. You knew ma was gone, you still chased her, while your damn kids chased after you.”

Dean watches John with a look that could wilt entire fields, he watches each minuscule movement of his face and hands, and he can’t believe he actually said these words after all this time. After all the hoops he jumped through to justify his father, the endless rejection of the life he lived because of him, all he gets is his father craning his neck down to look at the gravel like a kicked dog. Dean feels skinned alive and hollowed out, he’s never felt this vulnerable in his entire life. 

He turns on his heel and leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> agape is a greco-christian term referring to unconditional love, "the highest form of love, charity" and "the love of god for man and of man for god"
> 
> i've chosen to completely ignore the fact that mary was revived (as i haven't watched this show in years, and i am currently attempting to catch up, and i also just didn't like that narrative choice!) i am making this up as i go, i hope you enjoyed this first part of potentially many. you can find me on tumblr @ ashayam!


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